


Holes

by storybycorey



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 14:10:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storybycorey/pseuds/storybycorey
Summary: A bittersweet little piece written for a prompter who requested a fic about Scully missing someone in her life.





	Holes

Her fingers are muddy, shoulders sun-warmed despite a chill in the air.  Seed packets litter the ground beside her.  She kneels, not necessarily in prayer, but—

Years ago, she’d laughed when Mulder bought pansy-patterned knee pads. She didn’t laugh though, after watching him lose himself for hours, in the soil and the seeds and the sun.

Holes, there’ve been so many holes.   _Too many_ , she thinks as she digs even more. 

When she was a little girl, she and Melissa held competitions— whose seeds will sprout the quickest?  Melissa had the green thumb between the two of them though, and Scully was a master at sulking.

She always liked digging though, always loved holes and the things you could do with them. Loved how, the deeper she dug, the cooler and damper the dirt got between her fingers. Loved that, in the blink of an eye, things could appear then disappear, and only she’d know where they were hidden. 

Most things placed in holes never reappear though.   

She shifts to the right, starts another row.  The sun feels glorious against the crown of her head so she closes her eyes, soaks it in. 

Maggie Scully’s birthday had been mid-April. She’d planted lilies along the front walkway of each government-issued house they’d owned.  Scully still remembers the day old Mrs. Davis pulled her aside:  _Tell your mother her flowers look beautiful, dear_ , how proud she’d been to have a mother who broke the mold.

The year her mother turned 37, her father was re-stationed late March. There’d been no lilies on the walkway that year. But on Maggie’s birthday morning, the family woke to a kitchenful of sweet-smelling blooms and Ahab’s proud, stoic face. Sometimes, Scully can still hear her mother’s happy tears.

One time, something she put in a hole did reappear.  It reappeared and bought pansy-patterned knee pads fifteen years later.  She smiles.  
  
Varnished mahogany boxes, silk-lined and tear-soaked.  So many holes. She moves on to dig one more row. 

When Emily died, she didn’t watch them lower her into the ground.  

When William left though (she doesn’t say _when I gave him away_ ), she gathered his things and put them in a box, put the box deep into the hole of her closet. Not quite as dirty, not quite as permanent, still just as painful. She’s never reopened that box, but one day she might. If she wants to.

Her knees ache, and there’s a family of cardinals twittering in the trees beside her.  She tears open the seed packets one by one.

Dropping the seeds in their holes, she thinks _Guess I’ll win this time, right, Missy?_ and smiles.  The dirt is cool and she lets it run through her fingers before covering the seeds.

From behind, there’s the squeak of the old porch door.  “Look who’s awake,” says the voice of that one magic thing that reappeared from a hole.  She turns, sees him with their cooing pink bundle. “Got a call from Jackson,” he adds, “Might stop by later.”

She hums her approval, reaches up a hand so he’ll help her to her feet. She’s fifty-four years old and it’s a beautiful day.

“Holes all filled?” he asks. 

“Holes all filled, flowers all planted.” She brushes dirty hands against her pants and presses a kiss to a small pink cheek.

She circles her arms around the two of them, these two things not in holes, rests her head against his shoulder. “They’re going to be beautiful, Mulder.”


End file.
